


Down the Silk Boulevard

by cornflake9992



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1980s, 1990s, Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Arson, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Italian Mafia, LGBTQ Characters, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi, Murder, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Organized Crime, Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use, Serious Injuries, Suggestive Themes, Toxic Characters, Whump, and should not be emulated, has both scarface and national lampoon's vacation vibes, just sayin, minor smut, seriously some of them are real assholes, that's the goal at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29038956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflake9992/pseuds/cornflake9992
Summary: A collection of short fics involving my OCs. Set in in 1989 Los Angeles, detailing the life and crimes of the esteemed Basile family. Some are general stories, a few are reader inserts. See the tags for warnings.Latest chapter: You join Nate for a trip to the library.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	1. The Killing Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in literal years! Thought it was about time to get back on that. Technically this isn't fanfic since it's a universe of my own making, but it'll involve enough fanwork elements that I think it fits best here.
> 
> If you're not familiar with my characters (which would be 99.99% of readers since I have Three friends who are) then please bear with me while I get them all introduced. This first chapter is actually ripped from one of my old works, where the featured OC was once a fanon OC of an AU version of a canon character instead. His name has been adjusted to correct that :v Everything else past this point is brand new. 
> 
> Each chapter will have a setting date, as well as any AUs involved. Because yes I've made AUs of my own universe that no one knows about! Lots of content to be had. Any pairings and specific warnings will also be listed. That's it for now, hope you enjoy.
> 
> Chapter setting: late spring, 2008. Nineteen years past main canon. Warnings for brief gore and violence.

A sickle moon lit the docks that night. It speckled the waves that slapped against the pier, spraying droplets on the tops of Dominic’s shined designer shoes. He drew deeply from his fifth cigarette of the evening before flicking it into the water. The nicotine made his hands shake, so he refrained from lighting another. He dearly wished he could; all he felt was the sluggish throb of a tension headache as two sleepless nights took their toll. Yet his steps didn't falter as he strode casually from the shipyard and into town, leaving the churning waves behind. His tie fluttered loosely on the seabreeze.

Dom was dressed to fit in. This was a posh part of the city, a place of mansions and extravagant living, so he'd put on his Sunday best just for the occasion. Anyone who might look outside would see only a neighbor walking home after a day of working, drinking, partying, gambling, whatever it was these rich assholes did on Thursdays.

He had one such rich asshole's schedule down to a T. The man woke up at six a.m. sharp, swam in his heated pool until seven, had breakfast at eight, did aerobics until ten, lounged about for an hour or two, ate lunch at noon, and spent the rest of his time socializing and schmoozing with other pompous moneybags until his bedtime at ten p.m. It was currently eleven thirty at night. Dom checked his Rolex just to be sure.

The target's house sat on the corner, surrounded by pointed shrubs and an even pointier fence. He eyed the spiked top of the gate with disinterest. There was always another way into these places, a back door, somewhere the hired help or secret mistresses would enter. He found one such hidden entrance by slipping in between the shrubberies and the wall of the neighboring house. This gate was locked with a simple latch, which he easily snapped. A freshly cut lawn and active lawn sprinklers were the only threats to greet him on the other side. He irritably kicked off the bits of wet grass that clung to his shoes.

The simplicity of this job was almost insulting. No security system, no visible guards, and only a few scattered cameras that were easily avoidable if you knew how to stick to the shadows. Dominic had taken more dangerous trips to the grocery store- which was no exaggeration, as he always risked the chance of being recognized by the wrong person. He picked his way carefully across the yard and onto the porch, searching for a way in.

The moron had left a window open. Granted, it was two stories up, but that was likely to be the most difficult part of this entire mission. The house’s siding was too smooth to climb, and there were no convenient ladders or lengths of rope lying around.

There was, however, a balcony just within reach. Dominic pulled himself up onto the railing, ignoring the aching protest in his shoulders, and hopped to grab hold of the windowsill. This was definitely in view of the cameras. Not like it particularly mattered, he could find where that footage was stored and scramble it once the job was done.

Though climbing into the window was easy. Dominic didn’t quite stick the landing. His shoes, wet from the lawn outside, slipped on the ledge. And though he managed to catch himself on the shutters, it directed the trajectory of his fall only slightly onto the carpet rather than the marble floor. He landed hard with nothing more than a quiet grunt, and lay still.

Nothing stirred but the curtains, fluttering with the wind. Determining that he was alone on this floor, Dom rose, feeling something in his back crackle unpleasantly. Even as he headed for the target’s bedroom, making no effort to stay out of sight in the vast hallway, no one came to investigate. He wouldn’t have cared if they did. The client hadn’t specified who should live, meaning bystanders were fair game, and Dom's fingers were itching to wrap around some throats. They twitched restlessly at his side.

He passed numerous doors, most of them closed, all the same hideous shade of vomit yellow that probably passed for tasteful in the art world. The owner of this mansion was some sort of paintings dealer. As far as Dom knew, they’d never touched a paintbrush in their life, but they were happy to sell off others’ works for a hefty forty percent of the profits. Not like he was some sort of connoisseur, but Dom was of the opinion that people should be paid fairly for their hard work. He could appreciate the talent that went into the craft, silently admiring a few examples that hung on the walls.

One of the doors he passed was open. He froze upon seeing a face staring back at him, a chill of adrenaline tingling down his spine, but his hackles lowered as he exasperatedly recognized it as his own. Just a mirror. A quick look around determined that this was the bathroom. Fairly small and simple, considering the rest of the house. It might be for guests. He regarded his reflection with an expression one might use while studying a bug in a jar. It wasn't often he noticed his own appearance, seeing how much it changed with every new disguise, injury, the passing of time.

Much of it was the same as he remembered: curling dark hair with grey at the temples, gelled back towards the base of his skull and just barely brushing his shoulders; honey colored eyes that glittered in the low light, and an unsightly, cratered burn scar blanketing one side of his face. Though the worst of it was concealed with stage makeup, he could still recall how the skin had bubbled and peeled from his skull, drooping his right eye and granting a permanent sneer to the corner of his mouth. His reflection glowered in the heavy darkness, then vanished as he moved on.

The target was fast asleep in the master bedroom. If this job got any easier, Dom might have to set the house on fire just to spice things up a little. He crept across the plush carpeted floor to their bedside. So peaceful, snoring gently, one arm wrapped around a pillow and the other thrown over their eyes. Dominic drew a switchblade knife from inside his jacket and slit their throat.

Though the kill was quick and brutal, he enjoyed the brief experience, hazy pleasure clouding his eyes as his blade exerted enough pressure to slide through the skin and neatly open up the jugular. He didn't bother to hold them down as their body spasmed, hands clutching uselessly at their neck while globules of blood seeped between their fingers. Watching their life bleed into their sheets, Dominic wondered what he might have for dinner. Cigarettes normally killed his appetite, but for some reason he was absolutely starving tonight.

The victim gurgled and choked on their own gushing fluids. Dom hummed to himself in thought. Something spicy would be nice. There was a Thai place down the road, and on the odd chance they were open this late he might pick something up.

Minutes later they were gone, eyes glassy and gazing at nothing in particular. Dom picked up their limp wrist and, finding no pulse, exited the same way he had come. He took a detour to the kitchen to rifle through their fridge. Expensive wine, imported juices, RC cola- what sort of millionaire buys RC cola? He snorted and swiped one of the cans. Sipping it, he left through the foyer, finding the security room on the way out.

There was a watchman inside, snoozing over the control desk. Dom debated whether he wanted to put off his red curry any longer, and somewhat reluctantly settled for deleting all the security footage from the past hour. The guard went untouched.

At the last second, he turned on heel and changed his mind. This kill was cleaner, leaving only a ring of purplish bruises around the man’s throat.

By the time Dom returned to the docks, the moon had disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds. His payment should have been dropped by now- twenty thousand dollars cash, stashed in the blue trailer at the south end of the yard. He took his time, burning through three cigarettes on the walk past the boats bobbing on the sea, some shining and new, others coated in rust and stuck with barnacles where their hulls sank below the water. Dom took breaths of fresh seaside air between each lungful of smoke. He would love to live by the ocean. A little shack, a fishing rod, maybe a dog. It’d be a welcome change from all the shitty hotel rooms. And though he was fully aware that settling down- let alone somewhere so conspicuous as a beachside property- was one step below begging to be killed, the daydream made him smile all the same.

The duffle bag was exactly where it was supposed to be. Every dollar was accounted for, as well as the requested change of clothes. Dom shimmied out of his fine suit and tossed it off the pier, putting on the stained jeans, patched canvas jacket, and white sneakers instead. Removing his leather gloves, he ruffled his hair until his appearance suggested ‘off-duty liberal arts professor’ rather than ‘I could buy your entire family with one thousandth of the funds in my bank account’. The Bangkok 56 on 43rd Street was calling his name, so he slung the bag over his shoulder and left the shipyard for the final time. Dom would be boarding an 8 o’ clock flight across the country tomorrow morning. Chances were, he'd never see this city again.


	2. Let Me in Your Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You join Nate for a trip to the library.
> 
> Chapter setting: mid summer 1989, main canon. Nataniele/Reader

No matter where his focus lay, he always wore that blank expression. Not once had you witnessed him smiling. The near-scowl had been intimidating, at first, before you came to know it as Nate's resting face. Even now, comfortably perched in his favorite armchair with his favorite book, an onlooker might assume he's being forced to read it against his will.

You knew better. A person doesn't read the same novel some twenty-odd times because they hate it. Your choice had been plucked off the shelf at random, leaving it up to fate. It was a book of poetry, the cover dusty and cracking at one corner. A quick flip through the pages revealed them to be full of widely spaced text in long, rambling lines. Not your usual style. Determined to give it a chance, you settled into a beanbag chair and propped the hardcover on your knees. It was quiet on this floor, the fans in the corner offering a steady buzz of white noise. Every few minutes, clacking keys broke the silence. There was a kid in a tri color windbreaker at one of the computers, probably finishing up an essay for school. A whiff of lemon disinfectant tickled your nose, though bringing your book closer replaced it with the scent of old paper. Nate seemed dead to all of it. He was lost in the world Emily Brontë provided.

This trip was a first. You had known Nataniele for a couple of weeks now, but your interactions were scarce. His job, whatever it was, kept him busy most days of the week. Had he been any other man, this would be a sign of disinterest. He wasn't the friendliest, and his social skills left something to be desired. His aura was moody, exacerbated by his tendency to wear nothing but black on black. You had yet to learn anything significant about his background, personal life or career.

But he was hot. So hot it was _stupid_ , and Nate seemed blissfully unaware of it. He missed every compliment you tossed his way. When it came to his intellect, he was cool and self assured- though he didn't boast or condescend, which is a delicate balance to find in a man...there was a lot to learn about him, skulking right under the surface. You were eager to dig it out. So when he asked you to accompany him for the afternoon, you didn't hesitate to accept. Who knew when the chance would come again?

You had yet not read a single line of poetry. All your attention went into studying Nataniele as he read. Normally, he could feel your stares and would look up in question. But not when that book was in his hands. Your eyes grazed the cover. Wuthering Heights. Some old Victorian romance, though you were more familiar with the song than the story. You knew that he checked it out on every visit to this library, thanks to an offhand comment from the woman at the counter. Why he wouldn't just buy a copy was beyond you.

This poem wasn't going to read itself. Your body sank more deeply into the beanbag as you adjusted yourself, finding a position that didn't put so much strain on your back. It wasn't that bad once you'd gotten started. Not that great, either. Biblical in nature and full of references you didn't understand, but the general thread of the story was easy enough to follow. Nataniele's presence burned like an ember on the edge of your vision, a smear of black that your eyes couldn't help but veer towards. Sitting in comfortable silence was all fine and dandy, but this _was_ a date. Wasn't it? Nate had never been very clear on what he thought of you. The fact that he sought you out for company must mean _something_. You got the impression that he didn't have many friends. Maybe this was his attempt at being social, and it was all platonic on his end.

Or a way to pass the time, a thought that stung more than you'd like it to. But that didn't make sense. Why bring someone along for an activity that would be exactly the same if done alone? On your next glance upward, you found a pair of deep brown eyes staring back.

What should have been a chilling glare made your heart give a pleasant flutter in your chest. The look was questioning, curious, and maybe a little bit annoyed- who could blame him, it must feel awkward to be gawked at. You urged your brain to come up with an excuse.

"Hey, uh-"

"Yes?"

Both of you whispered. Any louder and you'd invoke the wrath of Deborah, the stern attendant behind the desk. Your throat felt dry as you pointed aimlessly at a page.

"Do you know what this word means? I can't figure it out."

Rather than letting you get up and show him, Nataniele stood, placing his book down on the arm of his chair. He didn't bother to mark the page. Being so familiar with it, you imagined he could find his place by memory. His long coat fluttered as he walked over to you- _behind_ you- and bent to look over your shoulder. 

"Obdurate?"

His breath fanned out across your cheek, that mellow voice of his tortuously close to your ear. It would have been bad enough at regular volume, but the soft whisper made it feel intimate, sending icy tingles down your spine. You almost jumped when his hand landed on your opposite shoulder. Nataniele wasn't one for touch, and made a clear effort to put space between himself and others. You'd watched him recoil from stranger after overly friendly stranger, brushing off hands whenever somebody got too close. Yet here he was, initiating contact as if it came naturally to him. You choked out a response.

"Yeah."

"Stubborn. Persistently so."

There was no way you could let him leave that quickly. Pointing at another word, you asked,

"What about this one?"

"Unbreakable. It comes from _adamas,_ a Latin word referring to the qualities of a diamond."

"Really? That's cool."

"Anything else?"

There was nothing else unusual on this page. Desperate, you chose something anyway.

"This one?"

There was a pause as Nataniele read that sentence. At least, you assumed that's what he was looking at. You couldn't tell with his head slightly behind yours. When he spoke, there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Seduced?"

Your face burned as you realized your mistake, the floor starting to tilt as your body leaned towards him. Before you had moved more than a fraction of an inch, you caught it and went still. The hand he kept on your shoulder was much too warm, the heat somehow radiating through both your shirt and the fingerless gloves he wore.

"Yeah."

"Enticed. Attracted. In this context, lured, but it can also be of a sexual nature."

You could have sworn his hand just slid closer to your neck.

"But you already knew that. Didn't you?"

He left you freezing and stiff with shock as he walked away, returning to his armchair. His face impassive as ever when he turned and sat down, picking up his book. Moments later, you began to doubt if the interaction happened at all. The faint smile tugging at his lips gave you the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to anyone who knows what poem that was :v


	3. Caffé Corretto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy day date. 
> 
> Chapter setting: autumn 1984, main canon. F!Reader/Diamante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone who loves the hot resident evil vampire milf- first of all same- I don't have one of those, but may I offer u a hot italian crimelord milf. Femme reader bc she's gay

Each table you passed was slick with rain. Their cheerful yellow umbrellas did little to block the deluge, and it was with a handbag held over your head that you rushed into the cafe, heels clicking on the linoleum. Diamante waited for you inside. You had spotted her through one of the front windows, face pensively blank as she read the morning’s newspaper. The sun was stowed away behind roiling steel-grey clouds, hiding its location in the sky. But a glance at your watch showed the hour hand creeping towards twelve. Perfect timing for brunch.

At your approach, Dia closed the editorial pages to look up and greet you with a faint smile. Her expressions were subdued and subtle- a quirk of the mouth could mean as much for her as an ear to ear grin would for anyone else. What her face wouldn’t give away, her elegant hands betrayed instead. They sat clasped on top of the paper, pointed slightly towards you as you took your seat across from her.

“Sorry I’m late! The first bus was full, and then the rain-"

You reached up to pat your hair, its neat coif now dampened and pushed out of place. Dia didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, her chest rose and fell rapidly with a silent laugh.

“It’s alright. You're here now."

Dressed sharply for the occasion, she tugged at the lapels of her two piece suit until they lay flat. Grey and patterned with lighter grey squares, the garment itself wasn't much to look at. But the padded shoulders, fashionably loose fit and cinched waistline formed a striking silhouette, accentuated beautifully by the string of pearls at her neck. Dia had paired it with matching earrings, her jewelry and makeup reminiscent of the nineteen forties or fifties. 'Her day', as she had once put it, when she was young and just shifting into adulthood. Yet they didn't clash with the outfit, which was definably modern. You caught yourself staring and let your gaze focus behind her instead.

"This place is nice. Smells good."

Like coffee and baking bread. The atmosphere was best described as cramped, but comfortable. There were only six tables in the whole restaurant, with yours being the closest to the entrance. Diamante had chosen the seat facing the doors. She liked to keep tabs on anyone who entered or exited the room. Behind her sat another, larger table, currently unoccupied, as well as the hallway to the bathrooms. The wood paneled walls and forest toned decor brought up visions of the countryside, a brilliant sun baking fields of soft grass and clover...or maybe that was just your imagination, bemoaning the bad weather and wishing for something more pleasant.

A woman with a head of teased, blonde hair approached your table, bringing your observations to a halt. When she asked for drink orders, Dia named something you didn't catch. You gave yours quickly.

"Just a black coffee."

Those hands clued you in once again. Dia managed to get your attention with some insistent tapping on the table. Remembering what that meant, you gave in to temptation.

"Actually...sorry, could I make that a latte?"

"No problem."

As the waitress left, your date cast you a coy look, bringing heat to your cheeks.

"Have you been reading those awful tabloids again?"

She could always see right through you. Toying with the charm on your necklace, you answered with just a touch of defensive pride.

"They're not _awful_. Some of those writers are critically acclaimed, you know."

"For being pill pushing quacks? Or telling young women to drink only coffee and diet shakes?"

"Good lord, I'm not that far gone."

"But you would be if I didn't look after you." Your heart jolted as Dia reached across the table, brushing a lock of soaked hair behind your ear. "Wouldn't you?"

There was no other choice but to agree. She accepted your timid nod with a gracious smile, her hand still lingering at your cheek. But she was forced to pull it back as the waitress returned. The blonde set your latte down, followed by a cup of what looked like-

"Oh, so _you_ can have black coffee?"

"It's an espresso." Diamante gave it a stir with the tiny spoon on her saucer, watching you with a level stare. "More specifically, _café corretto_."

"Which is?"

"Espresso with a shot of liquor. I believe they use Sambuca here." Your waitress had scampered off for a moment to get her notepad. When she returned to take food orders, you realized you hadn't taken a single peek at the menu. Rather than giving Dia another reason to tease, you went with a safe approach.

"Anything here you'd recommend?"

The woman, whose name tag labelled her as Nicole, gave a shrug of her narrow shoulders. "I just started this morning. But I hear the crepes are good."

Crepes it was. Cherry topping and a side of hash browns, when promoted to add one. Diamante went with a mushroom frittata, asking if they could perhaps top it with parmesan instead of feta. Alone with you once again, she continued smoothly,

"I'm surprised you're not having a drink, too."

You averted your gaze to the table, a nail digging at a knot in the wood. There were cotton placemats and no tablecloth. Not the most efficient for cleaning purposes, but it lent to the rustic vibe. "I thought about it. But I had too much last night- don't give me that look, you partied at my age."

With a dismissive wave- and an eye roll that told you just how right your assumption was- she lifted her mug for a sip. Your watched in rapt fascination as it came away stained with red, the imprint of her lips along the rim of white porcelain.

"Maybe I'll have some wine tonight. At your place."

"So you're staying for dinner?"

"Actually, I was hoping to sleep over."

"And you're aware that I don't have a guest room?" Dia raised one slim brow, curious amusement threatening to tug her mouth at one edge.

"I wouldn't use it anyway."

That one broke her composure, and you had the honor of witnessing her _giggle_. Gratified, you stored the memory away for another rainy day. As the meal went on, the pattering on the roof continued, a gentle staccato to fill the gaps in your conversations. Many cups of _corretto_ later, both of you barely noticed the downpour coming to a gradual stop. The sun would be out by the time you finally stepped outside to head home. Quite a shame, since Dia had wanted an excuse to give you her jacket.


End file.
